


For your own sanity, as well as mine, you probably shouldn't dwell on it

by Nopholom



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Spitroasting, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:39:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1384504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nopholom/pseuds/Nopholom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos and Aramis are slightly amorous drunks and d'Artagnan is suspicious of them, so naturally, he follows them home, despite Athos telling him not to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posted this on Tumblr fucking ages ago, figured I should probably dump it here too. (I think I wrote it before the puppy one???)
> 
> Excuse the title, the original was just "Porthos was drunk" cause that's what I saved it as, but I figured that seems a bit in poor taste given the line in the show.

Porthos was drunk, it was to be expected, they _were_ out drinking after all, but something seemed _off_ about him; he was usually so loud and boisterous when the four of them went out drinking, but he'd spent the last hour or so with a hand clamped on Aramis' shoulder, whispering into the other musketeer's ear and laughing. d'Artagnan eyed them both quizzically, half a year had gone by since he had first helped the musketeers, he was on the verge of becoming one himself, and yet he'd never seen Porthos act quite like this, though Aramis seemed used to it.

"Athos," he said, turning to the leader of their quartet, speaking loud enough to be heard over the raucous cacophony of the public house, but trying to keep his voice from carrying to Aramis and Porthos. Athos regarded him coolly, as he always seemed to, his expression mostly guarded but a familial fondness in his eyes, "what..." he didn't know how to word his question, instead choosing to gesture at their brothers, Athos looking to see Aramis as the one pressing lips to ear and talking,

"For your own sanity, as well as mine, you probably shouldn't dwell on it," Athos said simply, leaning back on his stool and gesturing for a serving girl to bring more wine, d'Artagnan didn't want to drop it though, his curiosity was piqued and Athos remained obtrusive when he tried to bring it up later in the evening.

He barely drank as the night went on, sobered by his scrutiny of the two musketeers, suspicious of the way they got too close when they whispered to one another, the way Porthos would press his forehead to the hat-flattened hair at the side of Aramis' head whenever he was struck by breathless laughter, how they'd ended up sat thigh to thigh, with over a foot between Porthos and Athos. It sent up a thousand flags in d'Artagnan's mind, though he wasn't sure what they were trying to tell him.

He was suspicious of Athos too, as he seemed to slip between pointedly ignoring the two of them and near-smiling at their antics, his expression bemused. Whenever d'Artagnan had tried to broach the subject, Athos seemed to have settled to advising he drop the subject, not speaking to him unless it was unrelated to the peculiar behaviour of the two musketeers.

As the night drew to a close and Aramis suggested getting Porthos home, d'Artagnan had a plan brewing in his mind, and Athos seemed to be onto him, at least enough to ease him aside once they were outside,

"I hope you're not planning to do anything rash," Athos said, voice a warning as his fingers curled loosely into the fabric of d'Artagnan's shirt.

"Of course not, do I look like Aramis to you?" he joked, earning a smile from the musketeer, who loosed his shirt and patted his shoulder,

"Good lad," he said, words drowned out by Porthos' near thunderous laughter, he turned a smile towards the other two, Porthos was using Aramis like a crutch, arm hooked around his shoulders like a life-line, and if d'Artagnan didn't know Porthos better, he'd have expected Porthos to come crashing to the ground if Aramis shirked him off.

"I suppose I'll be getting this one home safely," Aramis chuckled,

"Do you need a hand?" Athos asked, to which Aramis shook his head, digging his fingers into Porthos' waist to hold him upright as he used his other hand to tip his hat,

"Good night gentlemen," he nodded, Athos mimicked the gesture and d'Artagnan nodded in response, watching the two of them stagger away, schemes falling through as Athos remained stood at his side.

"Good night Athos," he said,

"Night," Athos nodded, walking leisurely in the direction Porthos and Aramis had headed, d'Artagnan cursed under his breath, turning and walking away, ducking down an alley and circling around the route he had intended to take. He wasn't surprised to hear Porthos and Aramis singing drunkenly, and it was a help really, to be able to follow them indirectly, it was funny too, because much to the chagrin of Paris, Porthos had decided to instigate a thorough butchering of some Spanish drinking song, and Aramis had been all too happy to accompany his rendition with _actual_ Spanish.

His amusement at their singing led to d'Artagnan feeling guilty about his scrutiny, but still he followed, hat pulled low and posture unassuming, though he didn't doubt he would stand out to the right people, even if they _were_ drunk. Their singing grew suddenly quiet and d'Artagnan dashed down an alley to get closer, he very rarely went to the barracks at night unless there was some kind of emergency, usually choosing Constance's company over that of the musketeers, but this was different.

He saw Porthos leaning against a support just inside the barracks, Aramis seemed to be holding him up and there was no sign of Athos; with some shoving, Porthos had Aramis walking towards the small quarters the two of them shared, following with Aramis' cloak wrapped around a hand like a leash. He waited for the two of them to disappear before striding confidently into the barracks, nodding curtly to the half-asleep musketeer perched on a stool by the open gates, he may have seemed in a daze but any sign of trouble and the musketeers could assemble a fighting force in half a shout these days.

His confidence waned and he darted into the shadows, following the line of the wall and rounding the corner to the courtyard of the quarters, sneaking past absolutely nobody to get to the suspiciously ajar door of Porthos' and Aramis' quarters. He thanked his god that the moon wasn't at his back, and that any lamp light cast his shadow out and away from the open door he peered through, watching with suspicious eyes as Porthos shed his shirts whilst Aramis sat on the floor struggling with his boots.

"Keep them on," Porthos rumbled, giving Aramis a sidelong glance,

"What? Just the boots?" Aramis quipped, to d'Artagnan's confusion,

"Maybe,"

"Can't, I'm far too drunk to get out of... these... with my boots on," Aramis smiled lazily, gesturing to his breeches with one hand as he tugged at a boot with the other. Not even d'Artagnan could work out how Aramis went from sitting to twisting into a kneel, it was an awkward gesture that ended with Aramis flinging his boot under his bed in his haste to stop himself from falling on his face.

"Damn," Porthos laughed, "you know," he started with a smirk, moving to stand so his feet were either side of Aramis' hands on the ground, "you look amazing on your knees," d'Artagnan reeled slightly in the doorway, not sure how to process that at all, he cocked his head to the side as Aramis looked up at Porthos with a wicked grin. Porthos reached out and Aramis pushed himself up to meet the gentle touch of rough fingers that ached to trail across his jaw, their eyes met and the looks of wonder they shared sparked into something else, a desperate need that led to an almost violent passion. Aramis began to claw at the buttons of Porthos' breeches, prying them free and yanking them and his undergarments down past his backside, exposing his thick, heavy prick. d'Artagnan felt his neck flush with warmth at the sight, confusion and heat racing down his body and settling in his groin.

As quick as it had been exposed, Porthos' cock vanished somewhere d'Artagnan didn't have the blood to think it would, Aramis' sloppy ambition getting the better of them all as he managed a muffled moan despite his full mouth, and Porthos let his head fall back, a hand tangling Aramis' hair, tightening in a way that looked painful. Aramis took it in his stride though, somehow managing to stretch his mouth further into a salacious smile as he drew back and left Porthos' wet and harder than ever.

d'Artagnan watched in awe as Porthos' ground Aramis down on his cock, his thumping heartbeat in his ears somehow out-matched by the wet sounds coming from Aramis' stretched lips as he sank down and brushed his nose in the coarse hair at the base of Porthos' cock. That seemed like a magic trick in itself, everything about Porthos was big, but even if it hadn't been, d'Artagnan couldn't comprehend how Aramis could swallow down a cock with such ease and still look like the most composed and secure man in the room. He bit his lip to hold back the moan burning the back of his throat, a well timed silencer if ever he'd needed one, as a hand found the back of his neck and he felt the brush of coarse hair against his ear and cheekbone.

"Not so much rash as _stupid_ ," Athos whispered lowly, d'Artagnan letting out a pathetic whimper of a sound, barely audible over Porthos' vocal appreciation of Aramis' "pretty little mouth", and he wasn't sure if it was terror he felt, or utter arousal, either way, he was in for a world of trouble now, he was sure of it.

He didn't say a word, and neither did Athos, the two of them just stood there, Athos' hand and proximity preventing d'Artagnan from looking away from the sight before him, as if stopping him from beating a hasty retreat and denying that he'd _enjoyed_ his spying. A furtive glance through the corner of his eye saw that Athos was transfixed as well, though his brow was furrowed and his expression was deep in thought.

He couldn't ignore the opportunity that presented itself, so d'Artagnan turned his gaze back to Porthos and Aramis, watching with open wanting as Porthos rolled his hips lazily in time with the slow bob of Aramis' head, their eyes locked as they moved together. d'Artagnan took a chance and pressed the flat of his palm to the tenting in his breeches, fingers curling around the shape of himself and squeezing once, though he froze as Athos' fingers tightened on the back of his neck, pushing him forwards, in his surprise he all but stumbled into the room, though Athos maintained his grip on d'Artagnan's neck with one hand and caught his wrist with the other.

"Gentlemen, you appear to have earned yourselves an audience," Athos interrupted, Porthos broke eye contact with Aramis for a fleeting moment before smirking.

"Well, that _is_ unfortunate," he let out, voice rough and edged with amusement, he stroked Aramis' hair tenderly, the kneeling musketeer panting softly where he now lay his cheek against Porthos' hip, acting as a barrier between d'Artagnan's mortified gaze and Porthos' proud wet cock.

"I didn't--" d'Artagnan started, but the way Porthos' lips slanted into a smirk reminded d'Artagnan that he still had a handful of himself, he'd been caught, Porthos had seen, Aramis had seen, and he could only assume that Athos had only announced them because _he'd seen_. His face was burning in confusion and shame, but not that he had been aroused by the scene before him, but shame that he had spied on _his friends_. "I am _so_ sorry..." he let out breathlessly,

"Don't be," Athos' words were punctuated by the door clacking closed from a kick, "you asked me earlier if you looked like Aramis, in jest I know," he brushed his fingers against d'Artagnan's neck, grasp no longer restricting or a warning, but urging softly for the younger man to look at him. "but you could," he said, earning a frown from d'Artagnan, "you may need to dirty your knees though,"

"Athos, you _dog_ ," Aramis praised before pressing a kiss to Porthos' exposed hip, Athos didn't acknowledge him though, he didn't have the chance, because d'Artagnan had acted on instinct, turning and pressing his forearms to Athos' shoulders, hands tangling in his hair so hastily that Athos' hat was knocked to the ground and partially trodden on as d'Artagnan forced him against the wall and kissed him, hard.


	2. Chapter 2

Aramis and Porthos watched-- sobered by their wonder-- as shirts were pulled from breeches and their two brothers in arms kissed ferociously, the room filled with wet noise and the clack of teeth in their eagerness.

"C'mere," Porthos let out, voice rough with a new kind of arousal as his free hand found Aramis' shirt and pulled him to his feet, the hand in Aramis' hair loosening into something more tender as he watched Athos and d'Artagnan strip one another desperately. He could hardly take his eyes off of them, even as Aramis began trying to coax him into a kiss of their own, Aramis settled for watching after his attempts garnered poor results.

d'Artagnan had to come up for air, but he didn't dare pull too far away from Athos or give him an inch with which to turn the tides or escape, their breath mingled between them and with each puff of air d'Artagnan could feel his lips scratch against coarse hair. He brushed hair behind Athos' ear and searched his eyes for something he couldn't quite figure out himself, and though there was something soft and genuine about Athos' expression, deep down d'Artagnan wanted to apologise and run, an urge that was banished by the inexplicably gentle way Athos reached to touch his jaw.

"Call me needy, but..." Aramis trailed off, d'Artagnan had forgotten they weren't alone, looking with wide eyes at the other two, Porthos with his breeches half way down his thighs and his cock upright and pressed against Aramis' thigh, and Aramis crossing his arms over his chest as he stared over at Athos and d'Artagnan, "I'm feeling a bit left out here," he smirked, a look passed between him and Athos, unreadable to d'Artagnan, who had turned and had his back to Athos; Porthos caught on though, lifting his chin and grinning toothily, and to d'Artagnan's confusion, fastening his breeches over his throbbing cock.

"d'Artagnan," Athos said lowly, voice sending a shiver through the younger man, "do you trust us?" he asked, voice barely audible, but the press of his lips against d'Artagnan's ear ensured he heard.

"Yes, of course," d'Artagnan said, indignant at the thought that they would even feel the need to ask,

"Good," Athos breathed, a hot wisp of breath against d'Artagnan's ear before he pushed at his hips and walked him across the small gap between the four of them. d'Artagnan looked over his shoulder at Athos, a crease of confusion on his brow, at least until fingers touched his jaw and he turned his head to find Aramis mere inches away from his face. The other musketeer wasn't smirking anymore, instead he was smiling, a warm, reassuring look on his face as he closed the gap and captured d'Artagnan's kiss-bruised lips with his own.

He didn't know why he was so surprised by Aramis' actions, because flashes of the looks Athos had given the two-- when they had been... when they had been quietly  _flirting_  with one another as they drank-- danced in his head and it became clear that the relationship being kept a secret from him wasn't between Aramis and Porthos, but Aramis, Porthos,  _and Athos_ , though Athos was clearly more reserved about his affections. maybe. d'Artagnan wasn't sure at all, and he wasn't wholly present, which Aramis amended through the scrape of teeth against his bottom lip, the action urging d'Artagnan's hands to Aramis' hips, only he found hands instead, Porthos' hands to be precise.

He dragged his fingers along the backs of Porthos' hands, digging into the natural grooves in the soft skin, trailing to the rougher skin of knuckles, weathered from fighting; kissing Aramis was different to kissing Athos, for one it was a gentler affair, whether that was through a different level of restraint or Aramis' nature, it didn't matter, but kissing Aramis so soon after Athos made him notice the lack of cleft and it felt  _strange_ , not bad, but strange. A low chuckle from Porthos had d'Artagnan pressing harder against Aramis, similar to how he had pinned Athos, only the wall this time was a drunken musketeer, whose arms slipped around Aramis instinctively, whilst d'Artagnan's hands trailed up forearms and settled holding Porthos' elbows lightly, whilst Aramis' hands worked at hastily unbuttoning d'Artagnan's breeches.

"Sit," he said breathlessly against d'Artagnan, "both of you, sit," but Porthos knew he wasn't being addressed, grazing his teeth against Aramis' throat and grinning as d'Artagnan reluctantly pulled away, surprised to feel Athos pulling him to the bed. Athos sat down heavily, hooking an arm around d'Artagnan's waist and drawing him down into the space between  his spread legs, curling his fingers under the hem of d'Artagnan's shirt and drawing the loose clothing up and over his head, tossing it aside. d'Artagnan leant back against Athos' chest, too scared to take his eyes off of Aramis, for fear of missing something as the musketeer began to shed his clothes a lot easier than he'd removed his boot, the other of which had been kicked off to the side, starting a pile of cloth, and leathers. His eyes flicked to every scar as it was unveiled, mind working a mile a minute, trying to catch up on a lifetime of  _not_  appreciating the male form, awed by the two contrasting physiques on display for him.

"Steady," Athos whispered against his ear, his hands moving slowly over d'Artagnan's chest and stomach, soothing touches to calm a racing heart, hands sliding down to trace over woolen clad thighs, and though d'Artagnan could  _hear_  his heart calming, each feather light touch sent a jolt of electricity and warmth straight to his prick.

"You're gonna love this," Porthos rumbled,  Aramis chuckling and stepping out of his smallclothes at long last, bending over and resting his hands on d'Artagnan's thighs, meeting his gaze as best he could when d'Artagnan was trying to figure out where to look. He felt Athos' chest move from against his back but only broke eye contact with Aramis when he saw something being tossed to Porthos' waiting hands. He looked past Aramis, watching as Porthos uncapped a bottle and poured a quick stream of liquid, he saw it splash against the curve of Aramis' bare backside before the easy torrent followed contours and gravity leaving a wet trail down his crack. Porthos interrupted the flow with thick fingers, brushing up to collect the oil and grease it against Aramis' pucker, Aramis let out a low sound of approval, shifting forwards to rest his forehead on d'Artagnan's shoulder, giving him a better view whilst supporting himself further.

d'Artagnan lifted his gaze, cheeks hot as he locked eyes with Porthos, shuddering at the grin the other man flashed as he worked a finger into Aramis, drawing out soft keens that went muffled by d'Artagnan's flesh, dampening with panted breaths. He could feel Athos' chin resting on his other shoulder, lips ghosting against his shoulder as he fluttered kisses on the skin there, the fingers of one hand working d'Artagnan's breeches loose. He tore his gaze from Porthos' face, looking to where his fingers, two now, plunged slowly into Aramis and withdrew, a constant, steady pace that had  Aramis knocking his head into d'Artagnan's neck, trying to bury his face in the bare, sweat slickening skin there.

"Does it hurt?" he heard a voice ask, rough and broken, though sluggishly he realised it was him who had asked,

"it did..." Aramis said breathlessly, "not now though..." he panted, shoulders pushing back and spine curving as Porthos added a third finger to stretch him, drawing a long, open moan from Aramis, which rang in d'Artagnan's ears even after it had dissolved into breathless panting.

"You'd be amazed how... accepting the human body can be," Athos managed, sounding almost as breathless as Aramis, d'Artagnan shifted slightly, pushing back against Athos further if at all possible, feeling the pressure of a hard prick shielded from his skin by rough fabric of Athos' breeches. He felt Athos' hips push to grind against him in response to his movement, an involuntary gesture that left d'Artagnan feeling too hot for his own skin.

"Definitely," Porthos agreed with Athos, the hand not toying with Aramis' insides slid up his back and he leant over him, curling his fingers around Aramis' shoulder and pulling him back before pushing him down. Aramis took a knee, keeping his hands on d'Artagnan's thighs but changing his grasp as his arms slid past and d'Artagnan's knees supported under his armpits, he was soaked in sweat and other fluids, cock upright and wet against his stomach, and his hair was starting to stick to his forehead. Porthos had dropped with him, keeping his hand in place as he situated himself comfortably behind Aramis, withdrawing slick, shiny fingers from Aramis, leaving a wet smear on his breeches as he unfastened them once more and pushed them down. He was just as hard as he'd been when Athos had spoken up; d'Artagnan shivered as he thought of Aramis sucking at Porthos' cock, licking his lips as he wondered what it would taste like, eyes fixed on the shift of Porthos' hand, slicking oil up his cock before moving his hands to Aramis' hips.

d'Artagnan held his breath as Aramis' loosened, wet pucker gave way to the head of Porthos' cock, almost as eager as his mouth had been a short while earlier, Porthos stilled for what felt like an eternity, only pushing forward when Aramis pushed back against him, adjusting his position a fraction. The breath was near-knocked out of d'Artagnan as a hot tongue trailed up his cock, a stark contrast to the sudden cold of the air he had been exposed to at the same time, he wanted to swear up a storm but he saw the way Aramis looked up at him, coy yet mischievous, like a cat with his new plaything, a thought that made d'Artagnan nervous. Porthos had withdrawn from Aramis almost entirely, and when he pushed in, hips flush to Aramis' backside, Aramis sank down the length of d'Artagnan's cock, throat opening with the utmost ease, stretched lips letting wet little noises escape as he began to bob to Porthos' slow fucking.

He wanted to keep watching Aramis but something in him wanted Athos' lips on his again, so he curled against the older musketeer's body, turning slightly and moving to take a handful of Athos' shaggy hair, drawing him in and crashing their mouths together messily, his other hand finding Aramis' hair uneasily.

As Porthos began to fuck Aramis harder and faster, Aramis gave up on matching his pace, not willing to sacrifice technique for speed, but d'Artagnan could feel every stutter and hitch of breath, every hum and moan as Porthos bruised hips with his rough fingers and lurched Aramis forwards as his control wavered. Porthos was vocal in his praise and d'Artagnan was lost to his pleasure and the way Athos looked at him when they parted for breath, foreheads pressed together, sticky with sweat, a broken look in his eyes causing a twist of pained familiarity in d'Artagnan's gut, though he couldn't place where he'd seen that look before.

He was torn from his thoughts by his fast approaching orgasm, fingers tightening in Athos' and Aramis' hair as he looked down to see Aramis pull back and take thick, creamy streaks across his face and hair, his hand slipped free and he sluggishly went to track a finger through one of the streaks but Aramis was hoisted back and with a thud, Porthos was on his ass laughing, whilst Aramis sat astride him looking confused by the sudden change of positions. He didn't have long to dwell on the move though, as Porthos' hand wrapped around his dick and began jerking him quickly at first before tapering to something slower. d'Artagnan watched breathlessly as Aramis managed to get his legs properly beneath himself for leverage, rolling his hips and riding Porthos' thick cock, looking at Athos and d'Artagnan and blatantly putting on a show, d'Artagnan was half tempted to throw him his hat, but he felt boneless and spent, leaning against Athos like he wholly depended on him for physical support.

Porthos let out a roar of pleasure, thrusting up into Aramis' eager hole as he came, his thrusts sounding  _sloppy_  as he continued to fuck into Aramis, pumping the other musketeer's dick to get him off too. d'Artagnan didn't know how Athos was tolerating this, untouched and nigh on fully clothed, he could still feel the musketeer's erection against his sweat slick back, could feel the way Athos rocked almost hesitantly against him, and he wanted to help him with it, but he didn't want to look away from the others on the floor.

Seeing Aramis come was like something out of a fantasy, he had forced Porthos' hand into his hair and had his head thrown back like it had been yanked, bowing back against the bulkier man as he decorated his stomach with his own come.

"Athos..." d'Artagnan said breathlessly, he wanted to turn in Athos' arms, to bring him to climax with hand or mouth or  _anything_ , but he was terrified of instigating anything beyond desperate kisses,

"It's okay," Athos murmured against his lips, but it wasn't okay to d'Artagnan, who swallowed his fear down and stood clumsily, his breeches a mess around his knees as he pushed Athos onto his back and helped him out of the confines of his own breeches with trembling hands. "d'Artagnan," Athos rasped, sitting up, his tone was giving d'Artagnan an out, one he refused to take, exposing Athos' hard, pre-cum wetted prick to the cool air of the room, wrapping his hand around it better and pushing himself awkwardly against Athos as he jerked quickly and messily. He braced one knee on the bed and tucked his face into the crook of Athos' neck, inhaling his heady scent as he was mentally devolved into the hopeless wreck he'd been his first time with a woman.

Athos didn't seem to mind though, thrusting into his hand and moaning soft praise as he dragged his fingers down d'Artagnan's back and dug them into the round flesh of his ass, d'Artagnan felt like his face was aflame as Aramis whooped his approval from somewhere behind him, but he grinned against Athos' shoulder and slid his half-hard, spit-wet dick up Athos' clothed thigh, darkening the fabric with dampness. It was quick and messy and d'Artagnan had the suspicion that he wasn't the only one feeling nostalgic about awful first times, not with the way one of Athos' hands found the back of his neck and dug in whilst he let out a rasp of d'Artagnan's name, rough and needy into his ear, his come slicking d'Artagnan's fingers whilst d'Artagnan's stained his pant-leg.

The feel of his hand wet with Athos' come lifted his awkwardness and  he let out a relieved laugh of a sound, kissing and mouthing at Athos' neck before he shifted back onto his feet, pulling his breeches up for lack of a better option. Athos looked beautiful to d'Artagnan, he was flushed, eyes half-lidded as he sat in a hopeless daze, more relaxed and at ease than d'Artagnan had seen him in a long time, he wanted to press against him and kiss him more, but he was interrupted by the feel of a cold, wet cloth sinking into the dip of his palm, Aramis wiping away Athos' mess gently. d'Artagnan looked at the floor where he and Porthos had lain, but Porthos wasn't there, a quick flick of Aramis' head told him to look towards the other bed though, where Porthos had sprawled himself out and fallen asleep, snoring like a content cat would if it were the size of a bear. He smiled at the sight but jumped when another cold cloth touched his skin, this time wiping at his stomach and lowering to his spent cock. He felt strange having Athos and Aramis wiping  _him_  down, since Aramis should have been the messier of the group, but it took a single glance to realise that Aramis was clean and the only hint of white was the strands of silvery coloured hair in his beard.

Clean, he dropped onto the bed he and Athos had been on, not sure whose it actually was, but content to sit and watch dumbly as Athos stripped and crouched near the bucket of water Aramis had procured, washing himself whilst Aramis threw himself over Porthos' bulk and proceeded to curl around him like a cloak, hand locked to wrist against Porthos' abdomen.

"We're staying then?" d'Artagnan asked as Athos rose, dropping the cloth into the wooden pail,

"Would you rather not?" Athos asked,

"no I... I want to stay... if you stay that is..." he whispered looking down at his hands, palms up and fingers relaxed and curled. He felt Athos' hand on his chin, tilting his head upwards, he took in the sheer nakedness of the man before him before he met his gaze, that strange look was in Athos' eyes again, so d'Artagnan pushed to his feet and kissed him, not as hard as the first time. It was a slow, lazy kiss, one that ended when d'Artagnan was backed onto the bed with Athos stood between his open knees. He was convinced Athos was going to take him then and there, but instead he knelt and helped d'Artagnan out of his boots, he tapped the side of d'Artagnan's calf when he was done, d'Artagnan drawing his legs up onto the bed and lying down, grinning when Athos climbed up, a knee on either side of his thighs and his forearms pressed to the thin mattress.

He stretched up to give Athos a lingering kiss before the older Musketeer slid to his side, closer to the wall, d'Artagnan rolled to face across the room, looking at where Aramis and Porthos were clinging sleepily to one another, an odd sight but it brought a warmth to his chest that flared up further when Athos' arm slung over him and his slender, muscular body pressed flush to his back.


End file.
